


Perennial

by katasirna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Florist Akaashi Keiji, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death (none of the main characters), M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Mental Breakdown, Tattoo Artist Bokuto Koutarou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katasirna/pseuds/katasirna
Summary: There’s something peculiar about the tattoo parlor and the flower shop that are across the street from each other, some people say. The drawings sticking on the tattoo parlor’s walls look alive sometimes, and all the flowers in the flower shop always appear to be in bloom at all times.orWhere Bokuto and Akaashi have the magic of life running through their hands.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	Perennial

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this story for the prompt "florist/tattoo shop au" of Bokuaka Week, but that was on Day 3 and now we're on Day 8 (or 9? depending on your timezone) haha welp:)
> 
> this story has a life of its own, and i've only managed to finish it right on time for Day 8's prompt, "magic/mythology/fantasy au" which happens to be a focus on the story, anyway, so i'm gonna just run with that

There is something peculiar about the tattoo parlor across the flower shop.

Akaashi observes as the last customer walks through the black-framed glass door; a man whose thin, white t-shirt lets an array of vibrant tattoos on his torso peak through. The man brushes his hand through what Akaashi assumes to be a stubborn bed hair as he exchanges some few last words with the parlor owner who’s holding the door open, their loud voices not giving a care to the otherwise quiet 11 PM street. The customer then gives one last wave while shouting a thanks and a promise to come again.

Akaashi’s eyes shifts to the last person in the parlor, who’s reaching sideway to press a button that changes the neon sign on the window from “OPEN” to “CLOSE” before proceeding to grin and wave at Akaashi through that same window.

_Huh—_

Akaashi, ever a man of self-control, jolts upright from his slumped position on the counter, receiving a smack of leaves to his face courtesy of the potted plants above his head.

He quickly composes himself and gives a nod of acknowledgement —which, admittedly, is also meant as a nod of apology for having been staring. The man with the eccentric white-with-black-streaks hair doesn’t seem to see it as a problem, as his smile stays intact on his face even until he turns and walks away from the window as well as Akaashi’s view. Left with no more people in his field of view, Akaashi now only has the front view of the new tattoo parlor.

The flat black paint of the parlor’s wall seems to blend with the night, while a couple of neon signs on the window and the string neon lights lining up the underside of the “Hoot Tattoo” banner above the shop contrasts coldly with the black frames of the glass door and windows. Through the windows, Akaashi can see papers and papers of drawings filling the walls of the parlor. The longer he stares at them, the more he feels those drawings to be as animated as the customers and the owner-and-only-tattooist that occupy the parlor during daylight.

There is something _really_ peculiar about the tattoo parlor across his flower shop —and it’s that it looks so alive at closing hour, when there’s no human figures obstructing the drawings sticking on the walls. Sometimes, Akaashi feels like they’re moving, though that’s not a conclusion to be made when he’s looking through a window all the way across the street. Besides, drawings aren’t supposed to come to life, anyway.

But, then again, he isn’t in a place to talk about what is supposed and isn’t supposed to come to life, because cupped in between his palms is a handful of carnation in bloom —the same one that was wilted only a few moments ago.

-

Akaashi hears a lively greeting before he gets to see his first customer of the day, as his sight is currently obstructed by an armful of asters that he’s about to arrange for an order. His own welcoming greeting is muffled by the few petals that are poking not only his lips, but his entire face. Arriving at his counter, he sets down the flowers gently before finally looking up to a pair of eyes that reminds him of sunflowers.

“Big order?” the same voice as the one greeting earlier asks. Unlike the unfamiliar eye color that makes Akaashi pause —as this _is_ his first time seeing them up-close, the person’s voice, equally vibrant as his orbs, is a sound he recognizes. It’s one of the two voices he heard last night at 11 PM from across the street, the one that belongs to the tattoo parlor owner.

“Not any bigger than usual.” Akaashi replies, sending a polite smile to ensure that his answer doesn’t feel too dismissive. He _does_ need to get started on arranging the flowers fast, as this order will be picked up early this morning.

As he starts to sort the pile of asters strewn across the counter, not missing the other man’s cheerful “I’m lucky early mornings are always slow for me!”, he catches a glimpse of tattooed arms. Without realizing, his eyes trail along the colorful ink work.

The drawings on this person’s arms look just as alive as the ones on his tattoo parlor’s walls.

“Hey, hey, hey~! You like them?” The arms are suddenly lifted off the counter and out of his sight. Akaashi looks up to see the wild-haired man flexing —his tattoos or his arms, he isn’t too sure. Perhaps both. Both are worth flexing.

“They look very.... real.” Akaashi comments, eyes catching a tattoo of a volleyball that reminds him of his high school days.

“You think so?! Wow, I’m glad you think so! My parents always badgered me for not having realistic drawings. That’s, like, one of the arguments they always use to prevent me from taking an art degree —Which isn’t a good argument, anyway. Art isn’t limited to realism! This is the 21st century, not the 19th. Ukiyo-e didn’t influence the western art world’s breakthrough of Impressionism for nothing!”

Akaashi isn’t the slightest bit surprised to discover that the man is capable of keeping a conversation as lively as he is a person. In the span of arranging five hand-tied flower buckets, Akaashi learns that the tattoo artist’s name is Bokuto Koutarou and that he, against his family’s expectation and approval, did end up enrolling in an art degree program. His decision to become a tattoo artist was mainly rooted in his passion for drawing, but it was also because he found it easier to contain his drawings from coming to life when he works with tattoo machine and human skin instead of pencil and paper.

And just like that, in the span of arranging three more flower buckets, Akaashi has also learned about the truth behind the peculiarity of the tattoo parlor and the lively drawings inside of it.

Akaashi lets out responsive hums as he plays with a ladybug on his counter, his left hand idly playing with the edge of an empty paper from where Bokuto just pulled the insect out moments ago. The tattoo artist, having pulled a chair to sit next to him behind the counter somewhere along their conversation, is currently drawing a butterfly on another piece of leftover wrapping paper.

“How do butterflies benefit flowers, again? I remember my Biology teacher in school referring to them as ‘pollinators’? But I never really get what that means.”

Akaashi silently stares at the fluttering butterfly wings under the tip of Bokuto’s pencil, his head working to put the mutualistic symbiosis relationship in the simplest way possible.

“They keep gardens alive, basically.”

Bokuto then rambles on about how cool it is for nature to be able to keep itself alive even without humans, like how the butterflies keep gardens alive by “pollinating, right?” and the flowers keep the butterflies alive by supplying food.

“Say, does that mean nature actually got itself covered? I mean, butterflies and flowers keep each other alive without the need of human hands, so where do we come in play in that course of nature?” Bokuto sounds as if he’s asking about what Akaashi had for breakfast, but his question puts Akaashi through a brief moment of existential crisis.

The florist eyes Bokuto’s fingers as they gently pulls the butterfly out of the paper, the insect fluttering timidly to one of the finished flower bucket. He shifts his eyes to his own hands.

“I think we just try our best to help keep them alive,” he answers, offering a small reassuring smile —to Bokuto or himself, he’s not sure.

But as he silently turns away from Bokuto (who’s in the middle of drawing more butterflies because he doesn’t want the first butterfly to be lonely), his hands cup the nearly-wilting carnation back to life and decides that it’s the latter.

-

“Hey, I’ve been wondering for a while now, but I kept forgetting to ask. Is this pot of carnation exclusively yours?”

Bokuto is now a constant in Akaashi’s morning hours. The tattoo artist has made “morning visit to the flower shop across the street” a part of his daily routine. It’s something Akaashi welcomes, as his presence is a breath of fresh air to a mostly-quiet flower shop.

“Ah, yes. It’s a gift from my late mother.” Akaashi’s smile shifts into a small frown as he sees the pale colors of the flowers in question and quietly cups them in his hands. If Bokuto sees vibrant color returning to the petals under Akaashi’s hands, he doesn’t say anything —Not now, not all the times he’s witnessed Akaashi bringing the carnation back to life. Akaashi deduces it’s because Bokuto himself also brings to life things that aren’t supposed to be.

“Oh— Uh.... Sorry....” Bokuto carefully mutters, putting a pause to his drawing.

Akaashi blinks at Bokuto in question before his brain finally manages to process why Bokuto just apologized.

“Ah. It’s okay. It’s been 4 years, I'm learning to cope. Besides, having this with me makes me feel like she’s always here.” Akaashi nods to the carnation, smiling in amusement when he sees two butterflies —Bokuto’s drawings, as all the butterflies in the shops are —fighting to land on the same flower.

“I take it she loved flowers, too?” Bokuto questions, his tone careful and cautious, like he’s unsure of whether to continue on the topic or not. Giving a reassuring smile, Akaashi nods.

“She was the one who started this flower shop business, actually. Around my high school years, I started taking over when her condition didn’t allow her to work anymore. After graduation, I decided I might as well make this my full-time job,” Akaashi explains, looking up and around the shop.

The shelves are rusty and the walls are cracked, but the abundance of vibrant leaves and flowers has been keeping the place (as well as the business) alive. Akaashi smiles to himself when he thinks about how his relationship with the shop is just like that of a flower and a butterfly’s; they keep each other alive.

“Whoa! Then, this place’s been taking care of you as much as you’ve taken care of it, huh, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto grins, looking up from the drawing he’s been working on for the last 5 minutes. It usually takes about one minute for him to draw a butterfly. Akaashi wonders what he’s drawing this time.

“I guess that’s true. It’s my lifeline, really,” he chuckles, his fond gaze towards the carnation elaborating his statement.

A voice calling out Bokuto’s name breaks their peaceful morning, the owner being a man who’s waving from in front of the tattoo parlor. Akaashi recognizes him as the last customer from that one night.

“Oh, Kuroo!! Right, right, wait!” Bokuto shouts, scrambling around as he gathers the papers he’s been drawing on. “Just go inside! It’s not locked!” he continues, hands reaching into the last drawing he’s been working on.

Akaashi watches as the man —Kuroo, apparently —waves his hand in a manner of saying “take your time” and casually walks into the tattoo parlor. When Akaashi turns to look back at Bokuto, his vision is suddenly filled with what appears to be a handful of budding lilac. Bokuto’s grinning face then peaks from behind them.

“You give people your flowers all the time, but how many have actually given you theirs, Mister Florist?” Bokuto beams, hands still outstretched and waiting for Akaashi to take his offering.

Akaashi sees the slight red tinge to Bokuto’s face despite his bold stance and voice. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Bokuto that he actually does receive flowers occasionally, from customers and proclaimed admirers alike. Well, but none of them are hand-made ( _hand-drawn_ , he corrects himself in his head), he supposes.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. I’ll make sure to take care of it,” he says as he takes the flowers from Bokuto’s hands with a smile. Bokuto’s own smile grows bigger.

“Alright! Oh, and I don’t trust myself to draw the flowers in bloom ‘cuz I can’t do them justice. So, hey, I hope this budding one will do? I’ll leave the rest in your hands, Akaashi!” Bokuto rushes away with his handful of empty papers from which he’s been pulling out butterflies.

When Akaashi is planting the lilac on the backyard of his shop, his hands brushing over the buds that are starting to shift, he realizes Bokuto’s parting words weren’t simply referring to his job as a florist. He watches as fresh blooms of lilacs peak from the gaps between his fingers.

-

“Why don’t you ever draw them in bloom, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi inspects the newest hand-drawn flower that Bokuto just pulled out of his paper a few moments ago. The budding marigold is the 7th addition to Akaashi’s flourishing backyard.

“Hmm? I told you the first time, Akaashi. I won’t do them justice!” Akaashi responds with a hum as he walks towards the backyard, Bokuto following behind him with a shovel.

“Besides, my hands are meant for drawings, while yours are for flowers, right? Your flowers will turn out so much prettier!” Bokuto continues as he crouches on a spot in front of Akaashi and starts digging a hole for the marigold.

Akaashi stares at the back of Bokuto’s head before looking up to gaze at his backyard filled with Bokuto’s gifted plants. Somewhere between these two weeks, around the 3rd or 4th hand-drawn flower, the two of them have developed a new morning habit beyond talking behind the counter of the flower shop.

Bokuto will be drawing butterflies and spends the last few minutes of his visit drawing one budding plant for Akaashi. The two will then take the tail end of their conversation to the backyard, where they plant the new addition before Bokuto takes his leave.

This time isn’t any different, Akaashi thinks, as Bokuto stands up and dusts his hands. The marigold that almost resembles his eyes —Akaashi still thinks sunflower fits them best —is now securely planted on the ground. Bokuto’s yellow orbs stare at him.

“Hey, you wanna come to my place tonight?”

Akaashi, ever a man of self-control, chokes on air.

“Sorry?” He tries to compose himself, and while Bokuto most likely heard him choked, the tattoo artist seems to be more focused on keeping himself from flustering.

“I— Wait, no— Sorry, that came out different. I mean, like, I’ve been visiting your flower shop every morning. And, well, since I assume your schedule is more loose at night, you can visit my tattoo parlor in return!” The color on Bokuto’s face right now reminds Akaashi of poppy flowers. Akaashi stifles a laugh.

“I guess I can make a visit. I rarely have customers coming at night, and I never have the energy to prepare orders after 8 PM anyway.”

“Sweet! Okay, see ya tonight, ‘Kaashi!”

As Akaashi helps Bokuto gather the empty papers he’d been drawing on, he notices the wilted state of his carnation and quickly drops everything. With shaky hands, he cups the shrivelled flowers and waits. It takes a while before the flowers return to life, a healthy blush returning to freshly-bloomed petals. Relaxing a little, he stares at his mother’s gift embraced in his hands, eyes shining with guilt.

If he notices Bokuto silently watching him, Akaashi pretends not to know, as it’ll only make him feel more guilty.

-

“Hey, hey, hey!! Welcome, Akaashi!”

“Ohoo, nice to finally meet you, Florist-Across-the-Street-Bokuto-Can’t-Stop-Talking-About.”

“Kuroo, shut up, man!”

Akaashi blinks. He’s starting to wonder if this Kuroo person is a customer with a lifetime subscription voucher or something.

“Ha! I wish that’s a real thing. Yo, Bo, can we make that a real thing? I’m practically your lifetime customer, already.” Akaashi purses his lips when he realizes he just said his thought out loud. It seems like he doesn’t need to be embarrassed for too long, however, as the two tattooed men are too immersed in their banters.

“No way. You make more money than me, I won’t accept that arrangement! Besides, this isn’t your time to shine. Kozume’s the one getting a tattoo.” Akaashi just notices the presence of another person —Kozume, Akaashi notes —when Bokuto gestures towards the figure laying down on the adjustable chair.

“Can we just get this over with? I still have a video to edit that I’m planning to upload tomorrow,” Kozume grumbles. Unlike Bokuto and Kuroo, he doesn’t seem to enjoy loud banters and outdoor voices. Akaashi adds that he also probably doesn’t really enjoy tattoo, as his skin (at least the visible parts) is devoid of any ink work.

“Kenma, Kenma…. I told you not to take the bet.”

“And I told you my opponent was using _cheat codes_.”

“Well, you should’ve one-upped them by using better cheat codes, then.”

“Never. Cheating for resurrection and extra lives is the most vile play.”

Akaashi shifts on his feet, unsure of what to do, being in the middle of people who are clearly very familiar with each other. Bokuto seems to see his uneasiness and comes to save him.

“Hey, you can sit on that chair, Akaashi! I’ll be finishing up this tattoo in no time. Anyway, this is my friend from high school, Kuroo Tetsurou, and his friend from infant, Kozume Kenma. Kuroo, Kozume, this is Akaashi, the florist across the street.” Bokuto then swiftly resumes to working on Kozume’s upper arm, inking an outline of what appears to be a small cat head.

Looking up from the tattoo, Akaashi gives a polite nod in reply to Kuroo’s wave and Kozume’s small nod. He’s really not one to initiate talks, moreover small ones, so he lets the sound of Bokuto’s tattoo machine fill the awkward post-introduction silence as he sits on his assigned chair. His eyes scan over the walls full of Bokuto’s drawings. They look even more alive up-close.

“Didn’t know you apply real-life morality in games too, Kenma.” Kuroo continues the conversation, poking at Kozume’s arm that’s currently being tattooed and earning a protest sound from Bokuto. “Yo, imagine being able to use cheat codes in real life. I’ll be using ‘klapaucius’ all the time.”

Kozume scrunches his nose. “At least use a more recent version of The Sims.”

“Gotta love that game. Ah, the complete control to meddle with the natural course of life.” Kuroo’s lighthearted comment in reference to the game briefly brings Akaashi back to his first conversation with Bokuto. The tattoo artist only chuckles in respond, eyes not leaving the tattoo he’s working on. 

“That’s the thing. People often gets too lost in the false security of having complete control over everything.” Akaashi hears Kozume’s tone floating between the topic and something else he’s not sure about. He follows the gamer’s solemn gaze at the drawings on the walls.

“That’s why cheating for resurrection and extra lives is just plain vile. The moment you feel like you have the power to play with lives, you feel like a God and start playing as one.” Akaashi’s hands twitch, remembering the feeling of blooming flowers in the cup of his palms. And maybe he’s projecting, but he feels like he sees Bokuto’s hand twitch, too.

There’s a heavy silence between them, but it’s soon broken by Bokuto’s loud announcement of Kozume’s tattoo being finished. Akaashi watches as the three (mostly Bokuto and Kuroo) exchange a few more words before the two customers bid their goodnight.

If Akaashi notices how Kuroo seems to rush his goodbye, how Kozume looks slightly guilty, and how Bokuto’s smile is tight and empty as he thanks the two, he doesn’t bring it up to his late-night conversation with the tattoo artist.

-

Akaashi sits alone behind his counter, the freshly-resurrected carnation in his hands and the silent flowers in his shop his only companies for the morning.

It’s been 4 days since his first visit to the tattoo parlor, and it’s been 4 days since Bokuto stops visiting his flower shop. He wonders if it was something he said, but somewhere in the back of his head, he weighs on the possibility of it being something Kozume said.

Kozume, whose face he’s suddenly staring at. Akaashi blinks.

“Akaashi, right?”

“Uhm— Yes.” He straightens his posture, trying to collect himself from the shock of having a person he just thought about popping up in front of him.

Having only met once, Akaashi is unsure of how he should interact with the other person. As he’s observed from their first meeting, Kozume is a relatively quiet person. He talked quite extensively that time, but only with Kuroo in a comfortable familiarity.

It doesn’t help that Kozume hasn’t said anything more, only making a bee-line towards the backyard. Akaashi follows him and shifts on his feet when the smaller man silently stares at the blooming flowers.

“Are these from Bokuto-san?” Akaashi jolts, not expecting him to talk —or to ask that question.

“They are.” Akaashi wouldn’t even realize he answered that with a smile if Kozume didn’t turn to stare at his face. He instantly becomes self-conscious, covering the lower part of his face, as well as the probable blush that’s making his face warm, with his hand.

Kozume hums and turns back towards the backyard. Just as Akaashi’s about to ask how he knows, he hears Kozume mutters something.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Akaashi steps forward in an attempt to hear his voice clearer.

“Can you…. tell Bokuto-san that I’m sorry…..?” Maybe Akaashi still isn’t hearing him clear enough. He steps to Kozume’s side and turns towards him. The quiet male has his face covered with his long bangs, but Akaashi can see that he’s clearly shy. Maybe Akaashi didn’t hear wrong, after all.

“I, uh…. Sure? But may I know the context?” He has a feeling that it has to do with that night’s sudden tense atmosphere, with Kuroo’s rushed goodbye and Kozume’s guilty look and Bokuto’s tight and empty smile as he thanked the two. But even then, he’s still lost.

Kozume is still silent as he walks away from the backyard and towards the counter, picking up a bag of baby blue eyes seeds from one of the shelves along the way. As the two is going through the purchasing process, Akaashi hears Kozume mutter something about Kuroo scolding him and telling him to apologize, as well as Bokuto being in “dejected mode”, but Akaashi isn’t too sure on that last one.

When Akaashi hands Kozume his change, the customer doesn’t immediately turn away and walks out. Instead, he stands there for a few second. Akaashi only realizes he’s actually staring at something when he follows his gaze, landing on the carnation. Starting to get uncomfortable with the uncertain silence, Akaashi opens his mouth to question the other person and turns to look back at his face.

Akaashi chooses to stay silent.

When Kozume gives him a timid nod of goodbye and finally exits the shop, Akaashi’s palms are prickling with pain and marked with nail indents. But they don’t hurt as much as Kozume looking at the carnation he’s trying to keep alive as if it’s the most vile thing he’s ever seen.

-

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi calls out to the silent tattoo parlor. Looking around, there’s no sign of Bokuto’s presence, only the drawings on the walls that oddly seem less lively than usual —like they’re just what they’re supposed to be; drawings on papers.

As he tries to find for the tattoo artist in the nearly-dark parlor, the neon signs on the windows being the only sources of light in this late hour, his foot stumbles on something. He falls to the ground with a yelp, mentally grateful for the fact that Bokuto’s not present to see that less-than-graceful moment.

But that’s only short-lived, as he soon realizes he’s face to face with Bokuto who’s curled up under a table.

Akaashi, ever a man of self-control, lets out a surprised shriek and falls back on his bottom. “B-Bokuto-san? Why are you....” Akaashi doesn’t finish his sentence, as his initial shock fades and Bokuto’s expression is much clearer to see.

Bokuto’s eyes remind him of wilting sunflowers. Akaashi’s hands twitch.

“Akaashi....” Bokuto’s voice sounds as lifeless as the drawings on the walls look.

“.... Yes.” Akaashi answers, not as a question, but as a statement, to let him know that he’s there —with him, for him.

“I’m a vile person, aren’t I?” Akaashi’s mind flashes to Kozume’s face.

“Ah, Bokuto-san.... Kozume said he was sorry,” the florist says carefully, still unsure of what ground he’s threading at. Akaashi fiddles with his fingers as he sees Bokuto shrivelling to a tighter ball, arms tightening around his folded legs.

“He’s got nothing to be sorry about. Him and Kuroo, they always try to help me, to remind me. And I— All these drawings, I never bring them to life, I swear! I don’t wanna play God. I don’t wanna recklessly play with lives.” Akaashi briefly looks around the parlor. Ah, that’s why they always look so alive; they’re dying to come out of the papers.

“But, Akaashi, you have a similar thing going on with your hands, right?” Akaashi’s hands twitch. “And I just— I feel comfortable using this.... gift— this curse, whatever— when I’m around you.” There’s an odd mix of happiness and guilt in his chest.

“I can draw realistically, right, ‘Kaashi? Maybe I am cheating, but I _can_ draw realistically. They’re enough, right?” His mind flashes back to Bokuto talking about his parents.

Slowly, Akaashi’s mind fits the pieces together.

“If my parents see my drawing now, they’d believe in me more, won’t they? They’d be happier about my future, won’t they? I’m enough of an artist. I’m enough of a child to be proud of. ‘Kaashi, am I enough?”

As Akaashi once again sees the pair of orbs that reminds him of wilting sunflowers, he reaches out his hand to circle his arms around Bokuto.

“Bokuto-san, you’re enough with or without your power.” Akaashi remembers his mother’s warm hands enveloping his own.

“Even just the normal Bokuto-san has always been enough.” Akaashi remembers his mother’s cold hands being enveloped in his own hands.

He bits his lower lips, hands clenching Bokuto’s t-shirt tighter. “We....“

_Keiji, there will probably be times where you feel like you can’t do anything despite having something special that others don’t have._

“We’ve always been enough.... as just normal humans....”

_Whenever those moments come, remember that it’s okay. It’s human to feel powerless._

As Akaashi holds Bokuto, he wishes his hands can heal people, too.

-

The next morning, Bokuto finally visits his flower shop again. The two smoothly go back to their normal routine with Akaashi arranging flowers for his orders and Bokuto drawing behind his counter, as if the four mornings before were never empty, as if last night they weren’t holding onto each other on the ground.

“Hey, hey, ‘Kaashi! What do you think?” Bokuto shows him a drawing of a carnation in bloom.

“It’s pretty, Bokuto-san.” He takes the drawing and smiles at it. Bokuto beams.

“Just like you—!”

There’s a brief pause where Akaashi and Bokuto just stares at each other, faces gradually getting redder.

“—r flower!! J-Just like your carnation!!” The way Bokuto drags his previous sentence to end it as a different sentence would make Akaashi laugh if it isn’t for the fact that he, too, is trying to compose himself like Bokuto.

“R-Right. Yes, my carnation is a pretty one.” Akaashi keeps his eyes on the drawing in hopes of avoiding Bokuto’s eyes, Bokuto trying to do the same by drawing a butterfly on another piece of paper.

“Oh, by the way, I see you’re starting to draw flowers in bloom now, Bokuto-san.”

“Ah, yeah! Figure I could use some practice. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to just try and use what I have, right?”

This morning is just like any other of their normal morning together. But when Bokuto concludes his morning visit, Akaashi receives a drawing of a blooming flower instead of a physical budding flower.

This morning, there’s no butterflies coming out of papers or hand-drawn flowers being given. Because this time, every time Bokuto almost reaches his fingers into his drawing, Akaashi holds his hands in his instead, a silent precaution and a wordless “are you sure?” And every time, Bokuto lets out a shriek of “OH, RIGHT, RIGHT!!” that makes Akaashi chuckles, leaving his drawing to stay on the paper.

Bokuto is learning not to carelessly play with lives anymore, to live his life as just a normal artist who treasures his gift. Akaashi, fiddling with his fingers anxiously as he glances at his wilting carnation, wishes to do the same.

-

Akaashi can’t do the same.

His trembling hands are cupping the wilting carnation carefully, like he’s holding memories of his mother that he doesn’t want to let die.

It’s okay, though, right? He’s currently alone in his flower shop, no one is around to judge him ( _No, no one is around to_ remind _you,_ his mind supplies). So, maybe his mother herself never liked it when he used his power to resurrect wilted flowers. Maybe she had held his hands in hers, like he did with Bokuto, and asked him “are you sure?” as a reminder not to meddle with the course of nature. Maybe she had reminded him, time after time, that his own hands were enough as they were.

But he had held her hands in his in her last moment, as the course of nature took her away from him. He had learned back then that his hands _weren’t_ enough as they were. Because they can’t heal people.

When he cupped his mother’s pale face, there wasn’t a healthy blush returning to her face like it did when he cupped the carnation. When he brushed his fingers against his mother’s wrinkled skin, it didn’t smoothen like the shrivelled carnation petals did when his hands brushed against them. When he held his mother’s body, it stayed limp in his hold, unlike the carnation that bloomed the moment he held it. When he touched his mother with his hands, as they were, she didn’t come back to life.

All of the emotions and feelings he had back then, of fear, of panic, of cold and hot tingles from the top of his skull to the tip of his toes, they’re rushing back to him right now. Because in his hands, the carnation isn’t coming back to life.

Akaashi isn’t a man of self-control. He lets out a pitiful whimper as he retracts his hands before cupping the carnation again.

The color stays pale.

Choking a sob, he stumbles closer to the carnation, until he’s holding it against his body.

The petals stay shrivelled.

“No. No _no nono—_ Please don’t leave me. I don’t wanna be alone. I promise this will be the last time. Just this time. I’ll stop bringing dead flowers back to life after this. I won’t meddle with the course of nature anymore. Just this once, one last time. Please, _please, mom,_ don’t leave me again. This is the only piece of you left _._ I’m just— I’m _scared, I don’t wanna be alone— The flowers can’t talk to me when I’m lonely, the flowers can’t hold me when I’m scared—_ “

There are warm arms holding him.

“Akaashi.” A voice just as warm, a familiar voice. Akaashi looks up to find familiar eyes.

His sunflower.

He opens his mouth to say the other’s name in return, but the only sound that leaves him is a whimper.

“Ssh, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.”

He knows he’s crying, and he knows that he’s holding onto Bokuto like he’s his lifeline. Maybe that’s what he is. 

“It’s okay, ‘Kaashi. It’s okay to be powerless. We’re just normal humans, after all.”

Slowly, gradually, Akaashi lets his hold on the wilted carnation go, like he’s letting go of the desperation in keeping memories of his mother alive. He doesn’t want to play vile and cheat to keep it alive anymore. He wants to learn to let course of nature take over, like his mother would’ve wanted.

Gently, carefully, Akaashi cups Bokuto’s face in his hands. He watches as a smile blooms on Bokuto’s face, watches as his yellow orbs shine vibrantly despite there not being sunlight.

Continuously, perennially, flowers will bloom under his hands —even just as they are. Akaashi learns to believe in that.

* * *

Akaashi watches as Bokuto concentrates on drawing the carnation.

“Bokuto-san—“

“I’m almost done, I’m almost done!!”

“No, your hair’s tickling my nose. I need to sneeze.”

“Waitwaitwait just one final touch— OKAY DONE!”

Akaashi sneezes.

“Bless you,” he hears Kozume mutter. He sniffles a thank you and decides to check the hand Bokuto had worked on.

“This is very pretty, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi isn’t just saying that because he’s talking about his boyfriend’s work. The tattoo of a carnation in bloom on his right hand really is pretty.

“Hey, hey, hey~! Right?!”

“Whoa, it really is! Yo, can you tattoo a super cool flower on my back next, then? Hey, Akaashi, what’s a flower that can give me, like, a mysterious aura?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what the flower is, if it’s Kuroo-san, it won’t look mysterious at all.”

“WHAT— WHY?!”

“Kuro, stop yelling. I need to concentrate.”

“You’ve been playing against that same guy for the past, what, three days? Aren’t you bored, Kenma?”

“No. It’s more fun now that he’s learned to play fair and not use cheat codes anymore.”

“Aww, is Kenma befriending username Ninja Shouyo, now?”

“Oh, oh! Kozume, can I tattoo a ninja on you?! I’ve never given anyone a ninja tattoo!!”

“No.”

Akaashi smiles as he sits in the middle of the familiar banter, every now and then being roped into the conversation. Moments like this have become a part of his daily routine now. In the morning, it’s Bokuto visiting the flower shop to have quiet morning conversations with him. In the evening, it’s Akaashi visiting the tattoo parlor and being roped into loud banters and conversation with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Kozume. Later in the night, it’s Akaashi staying in the tattoo parlor to have private night conversations with Bokuto.

This night isn’t any difference, as Kuroo and Kozume soon say their goodbye and exit the tattoo parlor. Akaashi notices something different, however, when he spots Kozume walking into his flower shop while Kuroo waits outside. He’s contemplating on going to them to ask what they're doing, but Bokuto currently has his arms around him and he’s currently feeling so comfortable cuddled up with his boyfriend on one of the parlor’s worn-out leather couch. Oh well, maybe Kozume left something that one time he made a visit.

Akaashi only finds out that it’s the contrary when he returns to his flower shop the next morning, having fallen asleep somewhere along his conversation with Bokuto. Kozume had left him something on his counter; a bag of baby blue eyes seeds, with a note saying “Come to think of it, my hands are more for games, not flowers. I’ll leave them in your care.” Akaashi smiles before walking towards his backyard.

As he’s planting the seeds, every now and then he lets his eyes linger on his carnation tattoo. Tattoos can be removed, and flowers wilt. But the tattoo on the back of Akaashi’s right hand will stay on him forever, and the flower on his skin will forever be in bloom.

When Akaashi is done with the baby blue eyes seeds and back at his usual spot behind the counter, his eyes catch the glow of the tattoo parlor's neon lights. He smiles as he finds Bokuto's figure, who's sticking a new drawing of a carnation on the wall. His eyes linger, following Bokuto as he reaches sideway to press a button that changes the neon sign on the window from "CLOSE" to "OPEN" before proceeding to grin and wave at Akaashi through that same window.

Akaashi smiles.

There’s something peculiar about the tattoo parlor and the flower shop across the street from each other, some people say. The drawings sticking on the tattoo parlor’s walls look alive sometimes, and all the flowers in the flower shop always appear to be in bloom at all times.

But every time Akaashi hears them talk, he only smiles. Because Akaashi knows that there is a normal tattoo artist inside that tattoo parlor who tries to heal people through his drawings, and there is a normal florist inside that flower shop who tries to heal people through his flowers.

Akaashi fiddles with his fingers a lot more often, and Bokuto plays with the edges of his papers whenever he draws. But they’re living their life, just as they are. And they’ll let nature take its course.

**Author's Note:**

> Baby Blue Eyes: freedom from past hurts, gentleness with oneself, healing the inner child, letting go, natural beauty and wildness, relationship healing, trust  
> Carnation: beauty, heart healing, love, perspective, rebirth, vigor and longevity
> 
> meanings of other flowers featured in the story (that actually relate to the scenes they're in):
> 
> Lilac: magical power, passage between the worlds, romance  
> Aster: beginnings, doorways and transitions
> 
> meanings of flowers vary from source to source. the ones i'm using are taken from a book called "The Magic of Flowers", which some flower meanings can be found here too: https://tesswhitehurst.com/the-magical-and-metaphysical-properties-of-flowers/
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy this first fic from me. it's actually been so long since i last wrote an entire story. i enjoy writing bokuaka, and i hope i can continue writing about them and grow along the way!


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